


Lessons in Letting Go

by sifshadowheart



Series: How to Train Your Godling [5]
Category: Fast and the Furious Series, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Frey of Asgard Series, Heartbroken Frey, Loki is a Good Dad, M/M, Multi, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 15:13:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16065770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifshadowheart/pseuds/sifshadowheart
Summary: Originally posted under the "How to Train Your Godling" catch-all story and moved to its own fic.Loki decides Frey needs some rest and relaxation after a heartbreak...with some speed to go with it.  SLASH





	Lessons in Letting Go

** Lessons in Letting Go **

**Part… _something_  of How to Train Your Godling**

_A Frey of Asgard Story Story_

By Sif Shadowheart

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter, the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and the Fast and the Furious series all belong to their various owners/creators.  No infringement or profit is intended by this work of fan-authored fiction._

No, you’re not confused.  The list of names Loki rattles off  _are_  referencing some of the out-of-order fics that will be published under “How to Train Your Godling” at some point.  That said, this would be considered the very last trip that Frey took before returning to his “home” universe a few months before Thor’s coronation.

**Prologue – Take a Breath**

Loki eyed the still form of his son and heir with heavy concern rampant in his verdant gaze.

These days he cursed the moment where he’d decided to finish his son’s teachings by taking him wandering with him through the dark paths that were open only to those of Ymir’s blood.

More, he cursed the names of those who’d dampened the brightness of Frey’s green eyes and the myriad losses that threatened to bow his head.

Names, some strange and others not, like Spencer, and Nix, Seely and Alric and Abaddon, or Christopher Halliwell, even Charles Spencer and Henry Tudor, which had branded themselves into his son alongside those of Draco Malfoy, Luke Castellan, and Jack Sparrow, all loves and lovers that for one reason or another were separated from his son.  Be it from death, time, or the simple growing apart of two hearts, Frey had learned all too well a lesson that Loki hadn’t been trying to teach him: that without his soul mate or another immortal to wed, he would  _always_  lose when he loved.  Another immortal would at least not be taken from him by death or time, while his soul mate – or mates – would by their very nature share his lifespan.

Lessons, it all came down to lessons that Frey had needed to learn before he eventually took up his godhood and claimed his dominion, as well as some of the traditional skills that Loki had waited for years to be able to teach his son.

He hadn’t intended how to survive a broken heart to be one of them.

And yet, each time they returned to Jotunheim for another round of hunting or tracking or survival training before leaving to visit Frey’s children back at home who barely missed them in the day or two their “lessons” in other worlds took, and then off once more for another lesson on another world, Frey got just a bit colder, a little more distant and cut off from his loved ones, giving into the distance that their Greek cousins kept between themselves and their non-immortal children.

It would  _not_  do.

Bad enough that Frey and Draco had parted ways for good, Frey losing his relationship beyond that of mere friendship with both the icy blonde and his French-Italian husband who had been Frey’s lover nearly as long as Draco’s.

Loki knew his son needed one more lesson – this one perhaps more important than any other.

How to breathe and then let it all go.

Frey was guarding his heart like a child would a scraped knee, which would lead to nothing good for a god-to-be as powerful as Loki’s son promised to be if it was allowed to continue until Frey closed it off completely.

Hells, as it was Frey was as powerful as any minor god, and more powerful than most, only missing the title to go with it.

Having  _that_  much power but not being willing to open his heart would only end in pain – for everyone – the only being Frey was  _himself_  around anymore at this point being Loki and their Jotnar relations and family.

His son was clearly in need of some serenity, some time to clear his mind and just  _breathe_  after the difficult and often painful lessons Frey had learned about both who and what he is at his core.

All that remained was for Loki to convince him to go and take one last chance on a meddling father’s intuition.

…

“I don’t think I heard you correctly.”  Frey blinked, speaking slowly as he stared at his father like some strange organism found on one of the planets he visited while he was adventuring with an interstellar vampiric warlord.  “You want me to do what and why, now?”

Surely he hadn’t heard the words: “forced vacation” and “finding himself” coming from the mouth of  _Loki_?

What the fuck were the worlds coming to?

Frey was just  _fine_.

He didn’t need his father sending him packing to some dusty backwater world without active magic to take a break and fucking “find himself” after everything they’ve been through together while training him to be a god one day…and figuring out how to handle Frey’s frankly disturbing levels of power.

“You are going to take a break.”  Loki said with a no-nonsense tone usually reserved for his occasionally boneheaded brother Thor.  “I’ve worked you hard over the last few decades, interspersed with few respites home.  And you’ve exceeded my every expectation.  But now the training is over and it’s almost time for you to go home and be a father to your children instead of an assassin or a warlord or a courtier or any of the other things you’ve excelled at on the other worlds we’ve adventured in.  Do you honestly believe you’re in the right frame of mind to do that?”  Loki arched an incredulous brow.  “Really?”

Frey stared out over the frozen forest that surrounded Laufey’s hidden citadel with a mulish set to his strong jaw, desperately ignoring his father’s words even as he knew they were right.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been separated from his children, though last time they’d been younger and he’d been stolen away instead of leaving voluntarily, but it  _was_  the first time where getting back to them hadn’t been the first thing he thought of every morning.

In many ways, he thought that might have been what Loki had been trying to teach him – how to numb himself to certain realities that were coming closer all the time, such as the inevitable  _permanent_  separation that would come between himself and his children, when they died if not before.

The immortal brain was fascinating in how it worked, how you could shut away memories and information until you decided to recall it…or something forced it to the forefront.

His father continued.

“Even if we forget about all the intrigue and danger, the deaths and betrayals and heartache.”  Loki stared at him implacably but with compassion lighting his green eyes.  “This very moment as I look at you I can  _see_  the scars losing your Christopher left on you.  More than your separation from Draco and Blaise and the others, or the deaths of Henry or Charles.  He  _got_  to you in ways they didn’t…didn’t he?”

“I wasn’t  _supposed_  to lose him.”  Frey’s voice was haunting in its emptiness.  “He was half-whitelighter, even upon death he could have stayed with me.”  His sneer was ripe with bitterness.  “If the thrice-damned  _Fates_  hadn’t meddled…!”

Frey shook his head, mussed hair flying wildly around him.  Why for Yggdrasil would his father put himself through this over and over again?  Losing his other lovers had been, not easier, but a more natural pain.  Henry died of old age, he parted amicably from Draco, Blaise, and Charles, and even though Nix had been a form of immortal, her death had been expected and  _accepted_  long before it actually came.

But Loki had lost more than one mortal lover to betrayal or murder, Frey’s other parents James and Lily among them.

How – and moreover  _why_  – would Loki ever risk that again, let alone as frequently as he does?

Granted, not  _every_  lover one of them takes is meant to be forever.

But among those that  _could be_ …he didn’t know how to deal with this loss.

“Loss, as you’ve known since you were a babe in arms.”  Loki said firmly but with aching understanding.  This was one lesson he’d hoped that his son never truly had to learn.  Though better with a lover than when his children inevitably die – hopefully of old age – long after Frey will be forced to relocated permanently to the Yggdrasil universe save for a visit or two through the ages.

Death gods are among those with the  _least_  amount of freedom, and it had long been assumed that due to his powers, his patronage from Thanatos, and his heritage that Frey would be the Yggdrasil god of Death.  There would be no jaunts to strange universes to ruin jump or play in a king’s court then.  Let alone visits to his wizarding descendants.

“…is the inevitable consequence of  _life_.”  Loki continued as he moved to his son’s side and rested a comforting hand on the back of Frey’s neck, a bit bemused – even now years later – that he had to reach  _up_  to do so, Frey having proven to be as tall and strong as one daughter of Apollo had promised ages ago.  “To try and protect yourself from it would be to stop living completely, becoming no more than a breathing statue.  A fate I wouldn’t wish on an enemy let alone my beloved child.  Until or unless you meet your soulmate or soulmates, you  _will_  be parted from every lover you take in one way or another.  Tell me true:” Loki gave his son a knowing look.  “Even had you  _known_  when you first set eyes on that sly half-witch what the outcome would be, would you truly refuse the joy that came from being  _his_  as he was  _yours_ for those months just to avoid the pain you’re in now?”

Frey stared down into eyes that in many ways were his twins, though the emotions he read there were very different than the ones that roiled inside him.  Sadness, resolution, understanding.  It was something he hadn’t understood until his triplets were born.  As a parent, his children’s victories were his victories, their struggles his struggles.  Loki had been a living example of that truth for as long as Frey could remember.

“No.”  Frey admitted, the words rasping from the tears clogging his throat.  “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Then don’t deny yourself the joy of loving again, or of loving another, out of fear of feeling this way again.”  Loki squeezed Frey’s neck.  “I won’t see you become closed off and hardened like that one-eyed bastard.  I won’t.  Even if I have to kick your ass from one end of the multiverse to the other.”

A faint half-smile crossed Frey’s handsome face at that cheerily-worded threat.

He’d do it to, Loki never being one to shy from “tough love” now that Frey was old enough and strong enough to stand toe-to-toe with him.

“Take the break, Frey.”  Loki told him firmly, letting go of his hold on Frey’s neck.  “Learn to surf.  Ride one of those nonsensical machines your dogfather introduced you to.  Get another degree.  I don’t care.  Just go and take the break, as long as you need.  We’ll all still be here when you get back.”  A smirk tugged at his mouth.  “If I’m right, we’ll be in almost the exact same spots as we were when you left, unless you decide to take off for a couple of centuries again in the world I’ve chosen.”

“Alright.”  Frey sighed, leaning forward on his braced arms.  “Tell me.  What is this world and who am I in it?”

…

The world itself was simple enough.

A non-magic version of Earth at the turn of the twenty-first century.

2001 to be exact.

His father had set him up with a cottage on the Southern California beach, a bank account plush enough that he didn’t need to work unless he chose, and a new name, one he’d never used before.

This time he was Evan Potter, a twenty-something with an inheritance and a beach house.

That was it.

Loki left everything else up to him, including what he was to look like.

It was tempting to go as himself, or one of the guises he’d used over the years.

But Loki felt and Frey agreed, that perhaps for this life he should be someone completely  _new_  without connection in any way to the pain of his past.

His form was similar, but more…less.  More like a normal person and less like an immortal or a god-in-becoming.

He’d chosen to keep his black hair, but given it a sheen of red when the light hit it, and cropped it short for one of the first times in memory.  He was leaner, shorter, more athletic than dangerously powerful, with his tattoos on show but his scars concealed.  His eyes were still green as emeralds but his skin was imperfectly tanned with a white strip covering his – if he’d been a female – lower bikini area.

Frey also intentionally pulled up a hint of a clean Norse accent rather than the mangled British/Norse/Long Island one that he’d carried around before freezing into his immortality.  People commented on a clearly-foreign accent but they asked  _question_ s with a mangled one.

And above all, in this semi-forced vacation, Frey wanted things to be simple.

Which, of course, meant that they’d be sure to end up complicated as fuck-all.

…

Weeks passed as Frey did little more than wander around the quiet beach bungalow that Loki had selected for him, moving from beach to water to house as it pleased him and living mostly on whatever delivery service would come out – which it being Malibu his Far had chosen was most of them.

He didn’t even bother venturing into the garage until he’d been “resting” and doing exactly nothing for going on three weeks.

A mistake, as he learned, when upon flipping the light his eyes popped wide at what awaited him wrapped in big green bows with a card propped up against a gleaming wind-shield.

 _My son,_  it read _, I know you think me…cracked to put it plain, for insisting on this break._

_But if I’m right and it took you longer than it should – honestly, anything more than a few hours – to discover your presents then I think you can finally concede that it was a break that you desperately needed._

_The cars, from my research, are two very fast if very different models, one “tuner” and one “American muscle.”_

_The motorcycle, I’m sure, needs no explanation as I’ve seen you salivating over it in any universe we happen to visit where the bikes are a “thing.”_

_If you need parts – or help – with them, my short search turned up a place called “Harry’s.”_

_Be well and don’t take_ too _many risks, I’d like you back in one piece and not healing from a wreck._

_Your Far,_

_Loki_

And indeed, the motorcycle BMW concept bike – one not even close to being street legal – needed no introduction.

The cars on the other hand…

Other than “sexy” he really didn’t know much about them, Siri always preferring bikes to autos.

It looked like he’d need to make a pit-stop by this “Harry’s” shop…and stretch out the bike’s wheels along the way.

…

“Damn, bro.”  Jesse whistled as he watched a be-yoo-ti-ful bike roll up outside of the shop, it’s long-legged rider dismounting with a smooth glide that was pure poetry in motion, making the youngest member of Dom’s crew more than a little weak in the knees – and Jesse being Jesse, he didn’t give a damn about gender.

So, when the understated – but expensive – helmet in matte black was eased off and a chiseled face with black scruff was shown, he wasn’t disappointed.

By the rider’s sharp male looks, or anything else about him really, as gloves were eased off slim, elegant hands before being tucked into a back-pocket on worn-in leather pants, and a leather-and-kevler jacket – the real deal, not a fake or cheap imitation – opened to show off cut muscles.

Eyes so green that Jesse could see them all the way from where he was sitting in the shop’s front window, the rider pulling up to the Toretto’s little grocery next door, gleamed in the California fall sun, and Jesse sat back with an  _oomph_  as the rest of the crew in the shop – who’d heard him or were there today anyway – came over to see what had him riled up.

“That’s a beautiful bike, man.”  Letty noted, eyes locked on the machine rather than the man.  More for his sake than anything.  Vince was the jealous type to say the least, and while she liked seeing her man scrap over her as much as the next woman, ruining a face that pretty would be a damn shame.  She frowned, cocking her head a bit.  “I don’t even think that’s a model I recognize, must be a custom job.”

“Since when does BMW make custom bikes?”  Vince snorted, rolling his eyes.  “That ain’t no chopper.”

“Did you see the gear he was wearing?”  Jesse pointed out as the rider – helmet still hanging from one hand – walked all loose-limbed and sexy into the deli/grocery.  “Expensive.  The kind that someone buys if they’re either dead-serious about bikes or they have money or both.”

Leon nodded, one hand brushing over his goatee.  “Kinda money that could probably get a BMW custom – if they wanted.”

“A little lost, ain’t he?”  Vince grunted, unimpressed.

“Who knows?”  Letty sighed, rolling her eyes a bit as she shooed Leon back to the bays.  They had some fine-tuning to do before any of them race in a couple of days.  “Let Dom sort it out.  He’s manning the counter today while Mia does her college entrance exams anyway.”

…

Looking up as the bell over the door rang – as if he hadn’t  _heard_  the engine of that bike coming blocks away – Dominic Toretto stared into what had to be the clearest – and saddest – green eyes he’d ever seen in his life.

Just one glance, and he already knew – whoever else this was and whatever they wanted, this guy was going to be  _trouble_.

Though of what kind he’d have to wait and see, something he was more than prepared to do.

God knew, if there was  _one_  thing prison taught him, it was patience.

His Ma lasted long enough to see him come home – a lot of that Dom thought was pure Dominican stubborn.  She faded away little by little with every visit to him, but the real spark had gone out of her when his Pop died.  His dumbass actions afterward hadn’t helped.  Ma hadn’t wanted Mia in a home.

But Lucia Toretto wasn’t happy to  _stay_  with her Dante gone, and once Dom had come home – and stepped up – she drifted away in her sleep one night.

Medics said that her heart stopped.

Nobody had needed to tell Dom that.

He already knew, Ma was going home to Pop, and Dom would have to keep on stepping up.

That was exactly what he did.

And whatever prison hadn’t taught him about patience, getting Mia through high school sure as shit did.

“Hey,” a smooth voice with a hint of an accent Dom had never heard before spoke as Dom took him in, well aware that his  _visitor_ , Dom wasn’t reading customer, was doing the same thing.  “You Dom Toretto?”

The voice matched the looks – both too smooth and too fine Dom’s little corner kingdom he’d scratched out of LA.

Made him wonder even more what he was doing here – and how he knew his name.

“Maybe.”  Dom settled on, leaning over to rest on his crossed arms on the countertop, eyeing the rider from under dark brows.  “Depends on who’s askin’.”

Frey smirked a little, eyes gleaming a bit in the dim light of the store.

Damn.

His old man had set him up hardcore.

This “Dom” was a near-dead ringer for one of Frey’s former lovers – and one that had been all intense heat and fun, even if that  _fun_  was playing who’s the better killer.  Rick had been bigger though, and moved like the apex predator he was.  But of course, the biggest difference beyond small things like height and body type, was the eyes.

Rick’s shone silver, a gift from his Furyan heritage.

 _Dom’s_  were a deep warm brown, beautiful in their own right, but as different as a Harley to his beauty outside the shop.

“Evan.”  Frey nodded, setting down his helmet on the counter and offering his hand, something he had to train himself into or out of every single time he went from one world or culture even, to another.  “Harry told me a Dom Toretto was the man to talk to about learning what to do with the cars sitting in my garage.”

“He did, huh.”  Dom ran his nails down the side of his jaw.  “What kind of cars are we talkin’ about then, Evan?”

“Fast ones.”  Frey arched a knowing brow.  “Are there any other kind worth bothering with?”  He jerked his head to the bike framed gorgeously in the window and the warm autumn sun.  “I know bikes.  Cars on the other hand…”

“What’ve you got?”

“An Audi TT.”

Dom’s eyebrows shot up at that, then a wicked gleam entered his eyes at the next words out of Evan’s mouth.

“And a Yenko Camaro.”

“For someone who doesn’t know cars, you’ve got a lot of potential there.”  Dom stood straight, eyeing Evan and then coming around the counter.  “C’mon.  Show me your bike.  I like what I see, and we can talk about your cars.”

“I wanna do the work myself.”  Frey warned, shoving off the counter himself and moving to pick up the helmet.  “Like I said: I know bikes.  I just never had anyone show me around a car.”

“I believe the first part.”  Dom commented, eyeing the engine and then gesturing Evan to fire it up and let him listen to it roar.  And it did.  Not a Harley’s iconic growl, but the roar of an engine that was built to be fast and tear up anything that got between it and its finish line.

It was a racer.

Dom took another look at Evan, who had moved to comfortably straddle the bike, working the throttle at Dom’s prompting.

And so was  _he_ , Dom would recognize someone with gears on the brain and starting flags in their heart any day.

Whether Evan had the potential to gain some NOS in his veins…well.

They’d have to wait and see about that, the custom bike not set up for the speed boost…probably because there wasn’t anything out there even  _close_  to touching its potential even  _with_  it.

Besides which, bike racers tended to be crazier than normal, often going with complex city-street races that were a lot more involved than your standard quarter-mile.

Still…Dom would have to see him in action to be sure.

And with Mia counting on him, Dom couldn’t afford  _not_  to be damn sure of who he was getting into bed with – metaphorically or otherwise.

“This Friday.”  Dom held out his hand for Evan’s phone.  “There’s a race on: mostly cars but there’s always a bike set or two.”  Dom programmed his number into the cell with ease.  “Show up, show me what you can do on that,” he nodded towards the bike.  “And I’ll come take a look at your projects.”  He smirked.  “See if I can make a real gear-head out of you.”

“Fair enough.”  Frey nodded easily, slipping the phone back into his pocket and the helmet and gloves back on.  “Friday then.”

“Friday.”  Dom folded his arms across his chest.  “I’ll text you where and when.”

…

Dom clicked back into the regular world as the tunnel faded, leaving behind the high of adrenaline and hot-blood that followed him after every race – win or lose.

Hands lavished him with attention.

He was their king, their  _god_  in this little corner of his world of oil and sweat and speed.

But over it all, dark brown eyes locked onto burning green.

He’d come after all.

When Dom had rolled up to the line, several races in, with no sign of Evan, he’d been second-guessing himself.

Maybe he’d read the rider wrong.

Maybe Evan wasn’t a  _rider_  at all.

Now, flushed and hard from his latest win, and there he was – just as long-limbed, green-eyed, and beautiful (Jesse’s words, not Dom’s who preferred straight-up sexy) watching him with a hot smirk and hotter eyes, all wrapped in a rider’s leathers and straddling his bike, ignoring all the race bunnies that flocked around both of them, the sexy-assed newcomer managing to steal a bit of Dom’s ever-present  _admirers_.

Which was all good anyway.

Dom didn’t want any of  _them_.

And if Evan looked as sexy winning a race – and with a single glance at the other motorcycles that had showed up, that was already a foregone conclusion – well.

Dom might have to reevaluate the offer he’d originally planned to put on the table.

…

Frey and Dom locked eyes, neither of them looking away for a moment.

Not when the crowds cleared and Dom leaned back against the side of his ride, arms folded over his chest and arching a brow.

Not when Dom’s crew all came and lined up flanking him at either side, all of them with some mixture of entertainment and irritation on their faces at their boss’s – leader’s? – preoccupation even as he kept up a conversation with them as the final flight of motorcycles growled, rumbled, roared, and purred up to the starting line.

Not when the purr of Frey’s bike shifted to a throaty roar as he clamped it between his feet, using his strength to lean it forward – just a bit – and letting the back tire spin, prepping him for take off.

Not until the starter’s hands dropped, the crowd roared, and Frey’s head snapped forward even as his primed-and-running engine had him nearly  _flying_  off the line.

Frey smiled as his magic had the eye shield of his helmet clicking down and his preternatural strength stabilized him from a start that would wipe out anyone weaker than him.

Damn his father anyway.

Loki was  _never_  going to stop gloating over being right.

Chris wasn’t off his mind – and nowhere close to being out of his heart – but ever since Frey had walked into that dusty little diner two days ago, the ghostly memory of his half-angel had had competition, for his attention if nothing else.

And that  _look_  Dominic had given him when he spotted him… _fuck_.

It was a good thing armored leather didn’t tend to  _show_ , but even if anyone  _had_  noticed the cockstand he’d gotten from the hot-eyed bastard, it wasn’t like he was the only male at the illegal races that got turned on by the roar of engines and the smell of exhaust.

As the vibrations of the engine coasted up his spine, Frey leaned into the first turn, spotting the next-closest bike finally gaining on him, and he smiled.

About time one of them caught up.

If a win isn’t a challenge, what was the point?

Especially with the prize that seemed to gleam in rich brown eyes.

…

“Ok, I’ll say it.”  Letty turned to smirk at Dom.  “What the fuck was that?”

“Custom my  _ass_.”  Leon muttered, information on engines speeding faster than Dom over a finish line through his head.  “I’ve only heard of  _one_ Beemer Motorad that fast, and it’s a concept bike.”

“Considering what he came to see me about…”  Dom drawled a bit, a heavy growl in his throat that was pure arousal.  “I’d guess that money isn’t a problem for that one.”

“Why’s he here then?”  Vince frowned.

“Because I told him to come.”  Dom told them.  “And if I had to guess…because he’s a rider, and wasn’t about to turn down a race.”

…

Frey roared over the finish line, heart thumping and cock hard, one hand flipping up his visor while the other mechanically counted the money handed over by the organizer, cutting out ten percent and handing it back.

All the while, balls-deep in another round of eye-fucking Dominic Toretto.

Finally, he smirked, eyes glinting in challenge, and roared away.

He didn’t bother to look behind him but if he did, he knew what he’d see: the Street King – well of anything on  _four_  wheels anyway – whipping around and slamming home behind the wheel of his ride and giving chase within seconds, on his tail in less than a minute.

…

Later that night, sweat-soaked and sit wearing his leather riding pants – though they were cupped under his ass that still had a half-hard Dom inside of it – and staring up at the ceiling of his garage as Dom rested his head on Frey’s chest, massive arms all that were holding the two of them semi-upright over the hood of Frey’s Camaro, Frey smiled as the nails of one hand scraped gently over the smooth skin of Dom’s head and the Street King shuddered a bit, hardening once more.

“That was one hell of a ride.”  Dom growled out with a little laugh.

Good.

Frey would hate for his latest lover to be a humorless twat.

If you can’t laugh – even a little – while sweaty and tangled up then you truly had no sense of just how absurd fucking was at a basic level.

Frey smirked down at him once more, then bore down on the re-awakening rod inside him.

“Who said it was over yet?  This isn’t no ten-second race, Dom.”  He groaned a little in his throat as in answer Dom lifted him up – still impaled – and started walking them towards the elevator, his own pants still in place just  _mussed_  just enough at the fly.

“Hope the hell not, though it’s one that I’m more than glad to fight to a draw.”  Dom leaned them against the wall as Frey jabbed the button for the lift, kissing him deep and hard while his cock echoed the movements of his tongue.

“Deal.”  Frey panted out a little, enjoying being manhandled by the mechanic – who for once was his exact same size, rather than shorter – more than he could say, or was ever likely to admit.

…

_One Year Later, Joint-Taskforce HQ, Los Angeles_

“Officer O’Connor, welcome aboard…”

…


End file.
